"Rolex night view"

#394451

15 January 2015

In Cambodia, if you’re a man, being present at the birth of your children is widely frowned upon. As both the prospective father, and a camera wielding photo-journalist, attending and documenting the birth of my son was a challenge to say the least. On 26th December 2014 at 8.00pm my partner of nearly nine years alerted me that her waters had broken. She started to have her first contractions, but we were advised to stay home, get some food and rest, and wait it out till night changed into morning. By 7.00am, after a sleepless night, the intensity of Madeline’s contractions reached a peak every 10 minutes; it was time to leave. Descending 7 flights of stairs, from our apartment in Phnom Penh, we hailed a remork (tuk tuk) to take us across the city, on a journey that would change our lives forever. As is common in the capital city, the driver said yes he knew where to go, (which meant no, I don’t, please tell me), so with the limited Khmer that I knew, and 10 minutes trying to explain where the clinic was, we came to an agreement and departed. For 20 minutes, in a rickety wooden carriage towed by a 125cc motorcycle, on substandard roads, we careered through early morning city traffic on with Madeline panting heavily all the way to the clinic. On arrival, Doctors and midwives monitored the baby’s heartbeat, and then lead us to the room that we had pre booked, ready for Madeline to start the first stages of labour. For the next 4 hours, the intensity in the room increased tenfold; I watched as the midwives coached Madeline with every technique in the book to ease her pain and mental state. Encouraging deep breathing and keeping her calm was part of my support role .When the staff decided she was ready, my partner told me to grab my camera. She was screaming as they wheeled her upstairs to the delivery room, and I realized I was about to begin documenting the birth of my son. From a photographer’s point of view, taking photographs of my woman giving birth was not easy.

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Commercial use is not permitted without prior authorization.
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#394452

15 January 2015

In Cambodia, if you’re a man, being present at the birth of your children is widely frowned upon. As both the prospective father, and a camera wielding photo-journalist, attending and documenting the birth of my son was a challenge to say the least. On 26th December 2014 at 8.00pm my partner of nearly nine years alerted me that her waters had broken. She started to have her first contractions, but we were advised to stay home, get some food and rest, and wait it out till night changed into morning. By 7.00am, after a sleepless night, the intensity of Madeline’s contractions reached a peak every 10 minutes; it was time to leave. Descending 7 flights of stairs, from our apartment in Phnom Penh, we hailed a remork (tuk tuk) to take us across the city, on a journey that would change our lives forever. As is common in the capital city, the driver said yes he knew where to go, (which meant no, I don’t, please tell me), so with the limited Khmer that I knew, and 10 minutes trying to explain where the clinic was, we came to an agreement and departed. For 20 minutes, in a rickety wooden carriage towed by a 125cc motorcycle, on substandard roads, we careered through early morning city traffic on with Madeline panting heavily all the way to the clinic. On arrival, Doctors and midwives monitored the baby’s heartbeat, and then lead us to the room that we had pre booked, ready for Madeline to start the first stages of labour. For the next 4 hours, the intensity in the room increased tenfold; I watched as the midwives coached Madeline with every technique in the book to ease her pain and mental state. Encouraging deep breathing and keeping her calm was part of my support role .When the staff decided she was ready, my partner told me to grab my camera. She was screaming as they wheeled her upstairs to the delivery room, and I realized I was about to begin documenting the birth of my son. From a photographer’s point of view, taking photographs of my woman giving birth was not easy.

Restricted to Editorial Use Only.
Commercial use is not permitted without prior authorization.
Please contact us for more information.

#394453

15 January 2015

In Cambodia, if you’re a man, being present at the birth of your children is widely frowned upon. As both the prospective father, and a camera wielding photo-journalist, attending and documenting the birth of my son was a challenge to say the least. On 26th December 2014 at 8.00pm my partner of nearly nine years alerted me that her waters had broken. She started to have her first contractions, but we were advised to stay home, get some food and rest, and wait it out till night changed into morning. By 7.00am, after a sleepless night, the intensity of Madeline’s contractions reached a peak every 10 minutes; it was time to leave. Descending 7 flights of stairs, from our apartment in Phnom Penh, we hailed a remork (tuk tuk) to take us across the city, on a journey that would change our lives forever. As is common in the capital city, the driver said yes he knew where to go, (which meant no, I don’t, please tell me), so with the limited Khmer that I knew, and 10 minutes trying to explain where the clinic was, we came to an agreement and departed. For 20 minutes, in a rickety wooden carriage towed by a 125cc motorcycle, on substandard roads, we careered through early morning city traffic on with Madeline panting heavily all the way to the clinic. On arrival, Doctors and midwives monitored the baby’s heartbeat, and then lead us to the room that we had pre booked, ready for Madeline to start the first stages of labour. For the next 4 hours, the intensity in the room increased tenfold; I watched as the midwives coached Madeline with every technique in the book to ease her pain and mental state. Encouraging deep breathing and keeping her calm was part of my support role .When the staff decided she was ready, my partner told me to grab my camera. She was screaming as they wheeled her upstairs to the delivery room, and I realized I was about to begin documenting the birth of my son. From a photographer’s point of view, taking photographs of my woman giving birth was not easy.

Restricted to Editorial Use Only.
Commercial use is not permitted without prior authorization.
Please contact us for more information.

#394456

15 January 2015

In Cambodia, if you’re a man, being present at the birth of your children is widely frowned upon. As both the prospective father, and a camera wielding photo-journalist, attending and documenting the birth of my son was a challenge to say the least. On 26th December 2014 at 8.00pm my partner of nearly nine years alerted me that her waters had broken. She started to have her first contractions, but we were advised to stay home, get some food and rest, and wait it out till night changed into morning. By 7.00am, after a sleepless night, the intensity of Madeline’s contractions reached a peak every 10 minutes; it was time to leave. Descending 7 flights of stairs, from our apartment in Phnom Penh, we hailed a remork (tuk tuk) to take us across the city, on a journey that would change our lives forever. As is common in the capital city, the driver said yes he knew where to go, (which meant no, I don’t, please tell me), so with the limited Khmer that I knew, and 10 minutes trying to explain where the clinic was, we came to an agreement and departed. For 20 minutes, in a rickety wooden carriage towed by a 125cc motorcycle, on substandard roads, we careered through early morning city traffic on with Madeline panting heavily all the way to the clinic. On arrival, Doctors and midwives monitored the baby’s heartbeat, and then lead us to the room that we had pre booked, ready for Madeline to start the first stages of labour. For the next 4 hours, the intensity in the room increased tenfold; I watched as the midwives coached Madeline with every technique in the book to ease her pain and mental state. Encouraging deep breathing and keeping her calm was part of my support role .When the staff decided she was ready, my partner told me to grab my camera. She was screaming as they wheeled her upstairs to the delivery room, and I realized I was about to begin documenting the birth of my son. From a photographer’s point of view, taking photographs of my woman giving birth was not easy.

Restricted to Editorial Use Only.
Commercial use is not permitted without prior authorization.
Please contact us for more information.